


Mario Kart Thug

by Miscar



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Mickey and Ian are both closeted, Periscope, no bipolar Ian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-03-29 05:18:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3883840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miscar/pseuds/Miscar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey loves Ian Gallagher. It's simple really, he watches his Periscope broadcasts everyday, and constantly comments, talking about Ian's life, and recommending new songs for him to learn on guitar or ukulele.<br/>Mickey loves Ian Gallagher. He just hasn't... met him.<br/>All that's about to change when Mickey bumps into him on the streets of South Side Chicago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ravenclawwit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenclawwit/gifts).



> Inspired by ravenclawwit's tumblr post:  
> 'au where ian is a “periscope” star and mickey is his number one fan'

“No. Fucking. Way.” Mickey stopped in his tracks, and Iggy slammed into his back, sending the two of them stumbling over a crooked slab of pavement.

“Watch where you’re going, Mi- The fuck are you looking at?” Mickey had gathered his footing and was searching the streets for that shock of orange hair he’d just laid eyes on.

Iggy turned to Mandy, handing her his joint. “What’s he staring at?”

Mandy replied with a shrug as she breathed in the cheap weed. “This stuff’s shit, Iggy, who’d you get it from?” Iggy ignored his sister to wave a hand in front of Mickey’s face.

Mickey batted his hand away. “Jeez, Ig. Personal space.”

“Then tell us who you’re boring your fucking eyes out at.”

Mickey turned around, pissed at his siblings for distracting him. Mandy held the joint out to him, which he declined. She raised her eyebrows, finally curious at what had Mickey so fussed.

“That’s Ian Gallagher.” He hissed, pointing to a tall kid with flopping, bright red hair, who was leaning against a slab of concrete wall, earphones plugged in and head bobbing.

“Lip has another brother?” Mandy questioned.

Mickey ignored her, cocking his head round to take in that tall, slim, yet muscular frame which the camera always insisted on hiding, rarely showing any more than his torso.

“I mean, I knew his surname, but I never thought he was a fucking _Gallagher_. No way he came from that Frank piece of shit.”

Iggy stood, confused, and ran a hand through his mess of fair hair. “Wait, how do you know this kid again?”

Mickey ducked his head, trying to think of a good reason. Once he knew he’d taken too long, he decided to come out with a partial truth. “I, uh, I watch his broadcasts.”

Both Iggy and Mandy squinted, not following.

“His Twitter, there’s this app thing, _Periscope_ , he does livestreams and you can watch ‘em and comment and stuff.”

Mandy looked like she was starting to understand, whereas Iggy just stared at him in blank confusion.

“Just go home or something. Fuck, I’ll see you guys later.” Mickey almost shoved them away from him, as he pondered how to make his approach.

Once he was certain that his siblings were out of sight, Mickey turned around to look at Ian again. _Ian_. Fucking Gallagher. How had he not known that he was South Side? There was no way that Ian still lived here, Mickey saw the innards of his home every broadcast and that shit was North Side as fuck, but if he was a Gallagher, then there was a fat chance that this was his birth town. It’s not like anyone would come on holiday here. It’s not like it mattered when his idol was stood 20 steps away from him.

Mickey took his details in again, and damn if that piece of fucking art didn’t make young Leonardo Dicaprio look like an ugly ass nun in a bathing suit.

Ian’s muscles pulsed through his tight t-shirt and his slender fingers tapped a silent beat against the brick wall behind him. Mickey only ever got to see those fingers when Ian was strumming a song on his guitar or ukulele, and they looked so much fucking better in real life. Mickey would pay money for those fingers to do some things to him.

10 steps later and a car window confirmed that Mickey looked as shitty as usual, the 19-year-old’s wild black hair sticking in as many directions as there were people who’d had the shit beaten out of them for looking at him funny.

Mickey kept walking, and didn’t even try to fix his hair. When he caught sight of his ripped off sleeves and grimy skin, he sighed to himself, but the breath back in turned to laughter at his dumb fucking luck. He had to keep looking back at Ian, back at that gorgeous real life fucking red hair, just to check that it was really him.

Ian glanced up, frowning at the boy who stood alone laughing to himself.

As soon as Mickey realised Ian was looking at him, his eyes shot wide open, because Ian Gallagher was looking him right in the eye, and he was acting like a fucking nutjob.

Ian pulled his earphones out, clearly worried by Mickey’s awestruck reaction.

“Hey bud, you okay?” If Mickey ever ended up in heaven, he wanted these to be the first goddamn words he heard.

That, however, was possibly the gayest thought Mickey had had in his entire life.

He needed to pull his act together.

Unfortunately, under pressure Mickey had always struggled to differentiate between any emotions other than delighted puppy and class A killer.

He scowled at Ian. “You’re in the South Side now, you know. You’d better put your fancy ass shit away before someone steals your phone and wraps your fucking earphones around your neck and chokes you to death.” He was also one to exaggerate.

But Ian just grinned, apparently humoured by Mickey’s threat, and pushed himself off the wall.

In that moment Mickey couldn’t hold it back anymore, and he grinned. He grinned until it hurt, and then shook his head, letting his thumb run over his bottom lip.

Apparently the smile was infectious, and Ian flashed his teeth at Mickey in that dorky way the older boy had become so accustomed to. Despite the look of confusion still adamantly plastered on his his face, Ian had clearly decided to give a conversation a go - probably to figure out the fuck was going on - and tucked his North Side items into a small backpack placed at his feet.

“You got a name?” Ian asked, and Mickey realised that this was it. This was where he told Ian Gallagher, face to face who the fuck he was.

He swallowed, took a breathe, and then came out with it. “Mickey.” He stated, waiting for the Ian to match everything up; that he was the guy watching every broadcast, taking parting in every conversation, and recommending his favourite songs for Ian to learn how to play. He waited for Ian to spring to life when he realised who Mickey was. But he didn’t. Mickey scanned his face, looking for any sign of recognition. He talked to the fucker almost every day goddammit, how had he not figured it out yet?

Ian took the expression the other way though, and frowned, slightly teasingly. “What, that not your real name or something?” Mickey didn’t say anything. “Come on, man. Just tell me your name or I’ll have to give you one myself, and believe me when I say that you don’t want that.”

Mickey froze, wondering whether or not to just leave now. Say some assholeish comment, and then gallop off. But then what? Hide in his bedroom, waiting for Ian’s next broadcast to stare at him like some bitch? No. He was fucking doing this.

He mumbled the words, afraid of a passerby overhearing, though he knew his siblings were at home, his dad was on a run, and the closest person to them was that drunk named after a fucking muppet or something, on the other side of the street. “Uh, mariokartthug94?”

Ian’s eyebrows shot up, and his jaw dropped, and Mickey swore he bit the inside of his cheek until it bled at the excitement of it.

“ _Mickey?_ ”

“In the fucking flesh.” he tugged on his lip now to stop his smile from jumping off his face and running a fucking marathon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> I first wrote this as a tumblr post after Cam's broadcast, and then decided to write a little more and post it on Ao3.  
> If this gets positive feedback, I might make it into a chapter fic? It's all down to you I guess, please leave kudos and comments if you enjoyed it!  
> Thanks again :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear, looks like this fic is turning into a thing.  
> Buckle up.

“I just-” Ian stammered, and Mickey stood silently, taking in his reaction, finally content.

“Can’t believe it?” Mickey offered.

“Fuck man, I always wondered if you were secretly some weird ass teenage girl, but look at you.” And Ian certainly looked at Mickey, scanning him from head to toe, lingering at certain places. Mickey shied away from the connotations.

As far as he was aware, Gallagher didn’t have a girlfriend at the moment, but he had done in the past; the kid was straight as a ramp. He always flirted with the girls on the broadcasts he watched, and given that his entire fan-base was on the internet, when a picture arose of him and a beautiful mixed race girl holding hands, Twitter almost fucking crashed. (Okay, he wasn’t that famous, but the shit had at least 4, maybe 5 digits worth of tweets).

Mickey only acknowledged the other girl’s race because damn, if she and Ian had had a kid and that bitch ended up mixed race with freckles and red hair, it would have been the most beautiful little shit alive.

So yeah. Ian was straight, and Mickey was screwed. Meeting Ian was possibly the best event of his entire fucking life, so if the prick had been queer as well Mickey might have just about keeled over. Maybe it was better this way.

Despite Mickey’s intentions to keep his life on the internet secret so he could act more like himself, Mariokartthug94 wasn’t out. In fact, he was about as closeted as Mickey, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a crazy fucking creature created from all of Mickey’s hidden, usually gay, emotions.

It was honestly too much of a risk; Mickey tried to be careful, but the inevitable day where he forgot to lock his phone stared at him with the Devil’s eyes.

Mickey feared his life for what information his Dad would have found if he wasn’t so careful. If he was discovered now Mickey would only face a small ass whooping for building up the WiFi bill that Terry wasn’t aware didn’t exist. Like Mickey was dumb enough not to use the fucking neighbours’.

He could always just clear his search history from gay porn, but Mariokartthug94 dated back long before that, and his dad would have had enough dirt on Mickey to bury his corpse in.

Not a single soul knew Mickey was gay, and it was going to fucking stay that way.

“Don’t look so bad yourself,” Mickey muttered, and if Ian had heard him he certainly didn’t show it.

Ian stayed still for a moment, and then his face split into a grin. “I can’t believe it’s fucking you.” he smiled, and then pulled Mickey in for a quick, bashful hug.

Mickey awkwardly tapped his back, and then pulled away, praying to God that Ian hadn’t felt his hard on.

Slightly embarrassed, but all in all still wildly over the moon, the two boys continued to take in the features that had been hidden by a screen for so long.

“Mickey Milkovich at your service,”

Ian raised his eyebrows, “Wait, you’re a _Milkovich_?”

Mickey shot a single black arch up in reply.

“You got a fuckin problem with that?”

“No, no, course not, it’s just… Mario Kart Thug?” He tittered.

Mickey went from defensive to flustered and protective in a split second, and scratched the back of his head, “It’s an awesome game, man. And it’s not my problem a Wii’s the most expensive shit we could steal.”

“Whatever you say,” Ian raised his hands ever so slightly in surrender, “but I sure as hell get the thug part now,” he chuckled, gesturing to Mickey’s knuckles and the FUCK U-UP tattoos slapped across them.

Mickey tried not to let the his pride show; maybe one day he’d come to regret the tattoos, but he knew that it wasn’t coming any time soon.

“Got this shit done with a fucking pen, battery and I’m pretty sure a spoon. Praise my dickhead of a brother and his steady hands.” Mickey glanced at his knuckles, appreciating the minor wobbles of Iggy’s handy work.

“I should get a matching set!” Ian’s eye’s lit up, green like two massive fucking emeralds, and Mickey scrunched up his face, confused beyond words.

Ian held out his fists in front of his chests, saying a letter for each finger, which Mickey parroted, trying to figure out what they spelt.

“F-U-C-K-M-E-U-P” Mickey paused, “Wait, _FUCK ME UP_ , you some sort of idiot, Gallagher?!” Mickey laughed, “No one’s gonna take you fucking seriously with _meup_ written across your knuckles.”

Mickey snickered again and eventually he’d doubled over laughing, Ian at some point joining him, and they could barely breathe.

Suddenly Ian made a noise that appeared to be his interpretation of _meup_ , and Mickey tried too and eventually they were facing each other, crying whilst they made the weirdest fucking noises.

“Fuck man,” Ian gasped, “we sound like a couple of screaming cows.” And Mickey cracked up one more time before gasping to get a grip.

Just as the two of them had finally gathered their breath back, Ian’s brother, Lip, came into view, jostling towards them, his head stuck in some sort of textbook. Fucking nerd. Ian had clearly been waiting for him, however, and slung his backpack over his right shoulder.

“You wanna come round to mine?” Ian offered

Mickey almost shat himself. He knew he wasn’t any old fan, he knew that Ian was closer to being best fucking friend than some internet celebrity, but the idea of stepping into Ian Gallagher’s front door like his fucking girlfriend/number one fan was not only dangerous but completely overwhelming.

“Uh, no. Sorry, the wife says she’s got a job for me, and she ain’t fun when she’s angry. Fucking commie.” He muttered the last words under his breathe.

As soon as he said it, Mickey realised he’d dropped the W bomb.

Ian looked a little alarmed, but before he could question any further, Mickey was tapping him on the shoulder.

“Hey,” Ian nodded, “would you mind not, uh..” Mickey trailed off as he gestured minutely towards Lip.

“Spilling the Mario Kart Thug beans?” Ian offered with a smirk.

“Fuck off.” Mickey grumbled. “But yeah, would really fucking appreciate it.”

“Then consider it done, or not done, ‘cos I’m supposed to not do anything? I don’t know man, but your secret’s safe with me.”

Mickey’s smile was grateful, though clearly slightly worried about all this new information that remained scarcely close to the edge of being surfaced.

“Mickey fucking Milkovich.” Ian shook his head as he turned around and started walking away, almost at Lip’s side.

“Hang on,” Mickey protested as Ian was about to hug his brother, wondering how Ian expected to meet up with him again, if he even wanted to.  “why are you in this shitty neighbourhood anyway?”

Ian looked back at Mickey and shrugged, “Parents got divorced,” Mickey squinted, “I’m moving back in, for good.”

And at that Mickey’s jaw dropped right to the ground, and was almost definitely too heavy to drag back up again.

Ian Gallagher was bunking in the South Side, just a few roads away from Mickey. And he wasn’t leaving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually love writing this, thanks so much for reading it and stuff idk you guys are cool beans.


	3. Chapter 3

Pulling away from Lip’s hug, Ian glanced back to see Mickey turning a corner and dropping out of sight. He smiled again, utterly bewildered.

“What the fuck were you doing talking to Mickey Milkovich?” Lip asked, engineering book tucked under his arm as they started their walk back to the Gallagher household.

Ian shrugged, “I was wearing my earphones out in the open, bitch wanted to slap me straight.”

“Well that ain’t happening anytime time soon now, is it?” Lip grinned proudly.

Ian knocked him over the the head, “Enough with the fucking gay jokes, man.”

“Nah, wait, c’mon! I hadn’t seen you in like a year until yesterday, and I was too drunk to even form words then. I’ve been trying to come up with new ones for 12 months, you gotta hear these out.”

“I came out to you like 2 years ago, Lip, you should be fucking over it already.”

“You didn’t come out to me, I caught you making out with my girlfriend’s brother!” Lip exclaimed.

“Oh relax,” Ian rolled his eyes, “he wasn’t even that good.”

Lip’s expression turned astonished. “Like that makes up for- ugh, I don’t know why I fucking invited you in the first place.” He grumbled.

“Because my ‘North Side piece of trash father probably wouldn’t even let me have premarital sex and I needed some goddamn fun in my life’ was the way you put it, I believe.”

“You and your goddamn grudges, Ian.”

Ian opened his mouth to protest at the pure _hypocrisy_ of it, but in the end decided to shut the fuck up and be a man.

Ian could think of a hundred and one things wrong with their relationship, but in all seriousness, he was glad to have his brother back at his side. They rarely talked since Ian had moved in with his real dad, Clayton, when he was 10. Money was real tight, and when the fiery Gallagher ran out they’d  pretended to miss him, but in reality the increase in the Squirrel Fund was noticeable, and it was what got the Gallaghers through the winter.

Of course, Liam had been a rather contradicting surprise, but Ian had settled in by the time that happened, and things were finally back on track.

His dad and step-mum’s divorce was slightly less of a shock. They didn’t often fight, but they never seemed to get on. Ian figured they had been waiting until he was 18, so he was old enough for them and their bags of cash to send him off to college once he had given up on his dream of joining the army. His trigonometry sucked ass, and none of his tutors had seemed to cut it.

When Ian suggested heading back to the South Side it had traumatised the both of them. Ian reckoned they had been visualising him being stabbed repeatedly in the chest when he was discussing the idea, because never seen two sets of eyes set so wide. Well, maybe until today, because Mickey’s were like that fucking lemur out of _Madagascar_ , and he doubted his own had been much smaller.

Jesus, Mickey. Ian was still caught in a trance by him; it was all so fucking surreal. And honestly, a Milkovich? There was no way this shit hadn’t been planned by a higher being.

Mickey watched pretty much every one of Ian’s broadcasts, and Ian was clueless as to how he did it, especially having now met him and acknowledged his discreetness among the topic. How the hell does someone explain the disappearance of around at least an hour of their life every day?

Not that that wasn’t what Ian had been doing until everyone found out.

It was all Debbie’s fault, really. Apparently her friend hadn’t stopped talking about ‘the hot ginger guy’ who did broadcasts everyday, and when she’d finally gotten down to watching one of them, she’d been downright disgusted.

The confrontation was rough, particularly because he’d had to do a broadcast that same day, pretending he wasn’t aware that every member of his family, at home and back in the South Side, was watching.

He couldn’t have just skipped that show though. Ian was adamant about not breaking out of his ‘at least every other day’ pattern, and he’d missed out on the day before’s because he was too busy having his dick sucked off.

The dude wasn’t even worth it, too fucking sloppy. Mickey wouldn’t be, Ian could already imagine it. His hot mouth and darting tongue- Fucking hell why did the bitch have to be married. Married to a fucking woman, of all things.

It wasn’t like Ian hadn’t banged ringed guys before, however most of them had at least 40 years on him, with grey hairs and grown up children. Mickey was different, and it wasn’t just the fact that he was almost Ian’s age.

Ian had know the guy for years, but seeing his adorable fucking face in real time had done some serious shit to him.

He didn’t want to lose Mick, and he sure as hell didn’t want to hurt him either.

“Yo, Ian.” All of a sudden the younger brother responded to the clicking in his face, and slapped Lip’s hand away. “You’re fucking out of it, man.” His brother chuckled.

Yeah, he really fucking was.

A few minutes later, and Ian made a brave decision. He turned to Lip, and shook his head.

“I have decided,” he stated, “to allow you one gay joke. Unless the moment is so wonderfully excellent that the world would be missing out on your comedic retort, this is the only time in the next week that you will be allowed to make one.”

“What?!” Lip exclaimed, “No way that’s fair. Freedom of speech, man.”

But Ian just shook his head yet again. “I have spoken, young Padawan. The decision is now in your hands.”

“For fucks sake.” Lip muttered, however Ian could see his brain ticking through a labyrinth of jokes in search for the perfect one. “Okay, why was the gay builder sad?”

Ian huffed a laugh, “I don’t know, _why was_ the gay builder sad?” he chanted.

“Because he couldn’t screw the nail!”

Ian squinted, trying to figure out the joke.

“You know,” Lip started, “because a nail is straight, like a straight guy, and they don’t have that those crosses, so you can’t use a screwdriver on them, aka screw them. Basically, the gay builder has a crush on this guy but he’s straight so he can’t screw him.”

“That’s not even a joke, Lip. Just a painful analogy.” Ian cringed. “Also, he could just bang the nail instead; same effect.”

“Fuck you.” Lip pouted, “That shit took me weeks to come up with.” **  
**


	4. Chapter 4

Ian lifted himself up from the couch when Fiona yelled up the stairs that food was ready, but took just long enough to see a heavily made up, black haired girl dashing down the other flight of stairs and bolting out of the front door.

“Was that Mandy Milkovich?” Ian asked, turning to his older sister.

“Don’t even talk to me about it.” Fiona stressed, throwing her hands in the air and dashing back to the kitchen when she realised she’d left the gas on.

Ian made his way to her, grabbing plates and cutlery to lay out on the table, when suddenly a stampede of footsteps were heard from upstairs. Ian jolted, almost dropping everything.

Fiona laughed freely, brushing his arm. “Don’t worry, kid, you’ll get back into the jist of things soon.”

Ian grinned back, “You sure about that?”

“You just gotta have faith!” She shouted as Carl threw himself into a chair, and Debbie handed Liam, the youngest sibling, into her arms.

Soon, the table was set, and a graphic discussion appeared to be underway about why Carl couldn’t bring nunchucks to school.

A few minutes later, and Lip slid in next to Ian, giving him a small nudge with his elbow.

“Mandy asked about you,” Lip said, the rest of the family still in heated conversation and ignorant to his joining them.

“Is she that girl you’re seeing?” Ian asked, curious as to whether or not his brother was capable of caring about someone who wasn’t in his immediate family.

Lip didn’t seem in the mood for providing solid answers.

“Uh, kinda.” he grunted, eager to turn the conversation back to Ian. “But she said Mickey got real fucking weird when he saw you. Knew you name and everything.”

Ian tried to stick his bottom lip out like he didn’t know what Lip was getting at, but it was clearly a poor attempt.

“I don’t know man,” Lip dished up some of the food onto his plate, “it sounded like he watches your broadcasts.”

Ian knitted his brows. “Doesn’t really seem like his kind of deal. Have you ever fucking talked to Mickey Milkovich?”

“I try my best to avoid it.” Lip confessed.

“Yeah, well, I kind of blew up last year. He probably heard about me by accident.”

Lip took a mouthful of his dinner, and hissed when it burned his tongue. “Don’t get so full of yourself man. Anyway, I’m hanging out with Mandy tonight, she says there’s some new club opening nearby. I’ll try and get some some more gossip, alright?” He wiggled his eyebrows.

Ian shook his head. “Make good choices, Lip. God knows no one else is going to make them for you.”

But what Lip had just said had given Ian a terrible, idiotic, and downright fantastic idea.

***********

The next day, Mickey woke up around noon.

He was tired, so goddamn tired; he hadn’t been able to sleep the night before. Why the hell had it taken him so long to-

Fuck.

The realisation hit Mickey like a baseball bat to the stomach, or some shit. His chest heaved in, his eyebrows shot up, and his shoulders just dropped, slack from where they had been pushing the duvet off of his body.

No fucking way.

All of a sudden Mickey was wide awake, and storming into the kitchen where Mandy was eating a bowl of cereal.

“Hey, Mands.” Mickey stumbled once he was by the table, suddenly lacking his enthusiasm and thinking up a reasonable excuse for his questions to come.

“The fuck do you want, asshole.” Mandy retorted without even looking up from her food.

“Nice to see you’re your usual cheerful fucking self,” Mickey huffed, but his sister just took another mouthful and smiled as much as she could without parting her lips.

“Uh, did you see some  ginger kid yesterday?” Mickey asked, wondering if perhaps being closeted for this long had driven him to complete insanity.

“The hot one?”

Mickey’s neck heated up. “How the fuck should I know?”

“You got eyes, don’t you?” Mickey still wasn’t having any of it. “Jesus Mick, I’m just fucking with you.”

“Well don’t.”

Mandy just rolled her eyes as she stood up to put her bowl in the sink. “Yeah, anyway, I guess you’re talking about Lip’s brother, Ian. You mumbled something about Twitter then sent me and Iggy anywhere far, far away from you. I told Lip though, he properly explained the whole Periscope thing. Kinda fucked up if you ask me, but whatever floats your boat.”

Regret started gnawing at Mickey, and he wanted to bitch slap his past self for blurting out so much to Mandy. At least she didn’t know shit about mariokartthug94, and at least she didn’t know that Mickey watched _every single one_ of Ian’s broadcasts.

“I only watch him like once a week-”

“Lip said pretty much everyone who watches his broadcasts is a 13 year old girl.” Mandy interjected with a snigger.

“Bullshit!”

But his sister just raised her Milkovich eyebrows.

“Yeah, well maybe some 13 year old girls have fucking good taste in humour, alright?”

“Whatever.” Mandy sighed, wandering to the bathroom with Mickey still on her tail.

Mickey hovered in his bedroom as Mandy grabbed for her make-up bag.

“By the way,” She said, examining an old liquid eyeliner that didn’t seem quite so liquid anymore. “Your wife said to tell you she’s out buying groceries or some shit,”

Mickey rubbed his eyes, and grabbed a cigarette out of the packet on his bedside table.

He dreaded every conversation about Svetlana. The woman seemed like a decent human being, but one day he was gonna have to get her a fucking kid or two, just to keep up the act, and since they’d gotten married a couple months ago it had been real hard to act like that didn’t bother the shit out of him.

“You know,” Mandy started again, oblivious to Mickey’s silence as he lit up, taking a long, hard drag. “You two are gonna have to get another place at some point. I don’t give a fuck why you don’t sleep in the same bed, but when Dad gets out of the can he’s gonna want his own room and that queen-sized mattress Svetlana has taken ownership of.”

“Ugh,” Mickey groaned loud enough that his sister could hear, “I’ll figure it the fuck out, okay?”

“Whatever you say, assface.” Mandy grinned at Mickey, who had sat himself at the end of his bed, and was visible once again.

“Douchebag!” Mickey shouted back as she slammed the door between them.

At the same time that door closed, another one opened - and not in some metaphorical bullshit way.

“Mickey!” Svetlana yelled.

“I’m right in here, you don’t need to fucking shout, Jesus Christ!”

Svetlana cussed something in Russian under her breath before striding into Mickey’s bedroom, a massive bottle of milk tucked under one arm and a bag of groceries in the other.

“You gonna put that shit in the fridge?”

Svetlana mimicked Mickey’s voice, “You gonna come out to you father?”

Mickey froze.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?”

Svetlana just shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly, and left to put the shopping bag down in the kitchen.

“No, hold on a sec,” Mickey jumped up, chasing after her. He grabbed her arm and spun her around to face him. “I ain’t some _faggot_.”

Svetlana glares at him, a disgusted look growing over her face. “He says to the wife he has not had sex with since wedding night.” Her accent is back now, thick and strong.

“It’s not my fucking problem that you’re a shitty lay!”

“Put eggs in the fridge,” Mickey growled at her change of subject.

“Go fuck yourself, Svetlana.” He said, picking up the packet and throwing them on the counter. “And do your own fucking job.”

With that Mickey grabbed a beer from the bag and ripped the cap off with his teeth - a skill he’d acquired long ago. He took a long swig before going back to his room, pulling on jeans, shoes and, for the first time in weeks, a clean shirt.

Mickey gave Svetlana one more hard glare, before walking into the fresh air and slamming the door behind him. **  
**


	5. Chapter 5

The first thing Mickey expected to see when he stepped out of his house was… well, pretty much anything or anyone other that Ian Gallagher. And the fact that his instinct reaction to seeing that gleeful fucking face was to run his hands through his hair, in an attempt to sort the mess out, didn’t make him any more chipper about the situation.

He felt his cheeks burning when he gave a stab at the traditional Milkovich conversation starter, and prayed to God he could blame it on the sun shining like a douche on his pale-ass skin.

“The fuck are you doing here?” Mickey snapped, but a smile was already creeping its way onto his face.

Ian shrugged; he was having an even worse time than Mickey trying not to grin like an idiot. “Waiting for you.”

Mickey noticed his backpack, and the jacket on the floor that Ian had clearly discarded when the heat of the day got too much. “Wait, you been out here all night?”

Ian flushed, and the pink travelled quickly from under his shirt, to his throat, and then his angled jaw. “No, only since, like, 8 this morning.” Ian took one look at Mickey’s disbelieving face and then trailed his eyes across the ground. “Fine, maybe 7?”

Mickey still wasn’t buying it.

“Okay so I didn’t really sleep last night, but that doesn’t mean I was outside you house this whole time. I’ve just been... chilling out.”

“Chilling out _where_ exactly?” Mickey asked.

Ian looked thoughtful, and then bit his lip, an action which Mickey tried his best not to stare at. “Come on, I’ve got something I want to show you.”

*******

The place Ian took Mickey to barely passed as a building; it was more of a grey, crumbling structure. The first floor was brickwork, and then it was as if the builders had given up on it, making the remaining four floors out of bare, expressionless concrete. But this wasn’t Mickey’s first time witnessing the place, and not just because he’d used to walk past it on his way to school. No, this desolate area was all too familiar.

“You see up there?” Mickey pointed to one of the rooms. “That’s where I go shooting.”

Ian frowned, “What, like, you have lessons or something?

“Do I have lessons or some- no I grab a fucking gun when I’m pissed, and shoot the fuck out of a target with the face of the bitch who messed with me stapled to it.”

Mickey was fuming and scowling at Ian like a madman, yet all the younger boy did was laugh in reply, somehow unintimidated. “You know, you were a lot nicer when all you did was type your anger at me.”

“Yeah, well you were a lot nicer when all you did was sing fucking Beatles tributes on your guitar.”

At that Ian took a few strides with his ridiculously long legs and turned around, now walking backwards, and jokingly clasped at his heart as he burst out into song.

_“Oh yeah I’ll, tell you something,”_

Mickey rubbed at his chin. “Oi for fucks sake Gallagher-”

_“I think you’ll understand!”_

Mickey ducked his hand and moved his hand until it covered his mouth, to hide the delighted expression ruling his face.

_“When I, say that something,”_

“Don’t fucking say it, Gallagher!” Mickey shouted, having heard Ian sing this song enough times, and knowing exactly what line came next.

Ian kept walking backwards, discreetly stumbling over a pile of rocks as he held out an arm towards Mickey. _“I wanna hold your haaaaaand,”_ He beamed as he sang the lyrics, and Mickey slapped his hand away.

“Keep the gay shit to yourself, prick.” Mickey warned, but he couldn’t help his smirk.

_“I wanna hold your ha-aa-and, I wanna hold your hand!”_

Mickey rolled his head back, feining relief. “You fucking finished yet-”

 _“Oh please, say to me - you’ll let me be your man!”_ Ian just carried on fucking singing as Mickey raised his eyebrows and pretended it hadn’t been one of his fantasies for goddamn years. _“And please, say to me - you’ll let me hold your haaaaaand!”_

“OKAY I GET IT YOU WANNA HOLD MY FUCKING HAND!” Mickey yelled, and dropped to the ground, picking up a handful of pebbles and lobbing them at Ian.

Ian yelped and starting to run away, darting to avoid the next few shots before ducking down, and scraping a few of the ground himself to lob at Mickey.

***

The room Ian led them to was a couple of buildings down from Mickey’s homemade shooting range, and when they’d finally walked up the stairs to the very top floor Ian threw himself on the ground.

“You fucking dick,” he laughed as he pulled a shoe off his foot, and made a point out of all the small stones that fell out when he shook it.

“What can I say?” Mickey leant against a wall, arms crossed. “You should’ve ran faster.”

Ian shook his head.

“The fuck we doing here, anyway?” Mickey asked, pulling his arms away from each other and toying with his fingers.

Ian slipped his shoes back onto his oversized feet and picked up his backpack from the floor where he had dumped it next to him. “Sit down,” he instructed as he fiddled with the zip.

Mickey raised a questioning eyebrow, and Ian over-exaggeratedly rolled his eyes in reply.

“For God’s sake, Mick. Sit your ass down, you’re gonna like this.”

“Fuckin doubt it,” He grumbled as he made his way over and sat a metre away from his idol.

Ian finally got the bag open and retrieved something in a slick black case.

“Is that your laptop?” Mickey frowned.

“Uh huh,” Ian pulled the MacBook out, and lifted the screen.

Mickey grinned, “North Side bitch.”

“Hey, I had to beg for this.”

“Sure you did, sweetheart.” Mickey mimicked.

Ian forgot about Mickey for a second as he typed in his password. Once it has started loading Ian looked back up, just as Mickey looked away from him.

Ian’s focus fell onto Mickey’s knuckle tattoos, which he was rubbing like if he scrubbed them clean he would be granted some sort of wish.

“You’re gonna have to sit close enough that you can see the screen, Mick.”

When Mickey didn’t move, Ian shuffled over himself, and Mickey could feel the body heat radiating off him now that they were out of the sun and in the building’s shadows.

Once Ian opened up his browser, he clicked on the first bookmark.

“Wait, no, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” Mickey screeched, because Ian had opened up goddamn _Periscope_.

The redhead ran a hand through his hair and tilted his head, question filling those green fucking eyes.

“I thought maybe you’d want to do a broadcast with me?” Ian asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (psst) ((comments make me really happy and feel special)) (((just letting you know))) ((((no other reason)))) (((((*slowly sinks into the distance*)))))
> 
> No but in all seriousness, they really motivate me to write and stuff and so are genuinely, extremely appreciated and will probably mean faster updates because I am a sap.
> 
> Forgive me.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who's baack

“No fucking way!” Yelling, Mickey jumped up off the floor. “I told you I don’t want anybody on the internet matching a face to my username, and I’ve got a fucking rep to live up to over here. I can’t be on a run with a guy whose 12 year old niece watches you and mentions me; I’ll look like some kind of pussy. And it’s fucking weird, man, alright?”

Mickey’s tongue darted out of his mouth, and Ian placed his laptop on top of his bag, standing up until he was a good foot taller than him.

“Look, Ian.” Mickey’s voice went lower; quieter. “All your sister’s friends will find out, then news will spread and suddenly,” he snaps out of his daze and makes a gesture with his hands, almost smacking Ian in the process. “the whole neighbourhood’s wondering why a fucking Milkovich is hanging out with a redheaded teen heartthrob who’s obsessed with some British boy band from the 60s!”

“Hold on a sec. First of all, I am not obsessed with the Beatles, you just can’t play Jedi Mind Tricks on guitar-”

“You listen to Jedi Mind Tricks?” Mickey interrupted.

“Um, yeah. ‘Course I do - Violent By Design is a work of genius.”

Mickey grinned, “I fucking love that album. Never pegged you for the hiphop type.”

“Yeah, well, not exactly appropriate for my ‘pint-sized’ audience, is it?” Ian replied in a mocking tone.

“You talking about the 12 year old girls, or was that a short joke?”

“You are a perfectly normal height, Mick. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.” A grin split across his face.

“Says fucking Sasquatch.”

“Hey, come on.” Ian gently punched Mickey’s shoulder, who flinched at the touch. Ian pretended not to notice. “I’ve been thinking about this broadcast thing all night. We don’t have to tell anyone who you are, I’ll just make something up; we don’t even have to say your name.”

Mickey racked his brain, there were so many things to consider. “But what about Mandy, and your family, and all your fans in the South Side?” He asked.

Ian breathed out a laugh, “I’m not that famous, you know.”

“Yeah, well you might as fucking well be. Come on, what do you expect me to do about them?”

“I don’t know. What’s so bad about being friends with me? I’m sure they’ll understand-”

“I thought you understood, Gallagher.” Mickey finally yanked himself out of Ian’s gaze.

“Mickey,”

“You’re fucking real, you’re standing right in front of me. I heard your actual goddamn voice singing the Beatles and was lobbing rocks at your ugly-ass head and you’re living less than _five fucking blocks_ away from me. This is a dream come true, Ian. So don’t fucking push it.”

Ian backed away, walking to the other side of the room. He took a moment before looking at Mickey again. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,”

Ian paused. “Is my face really that ugly?”

Mickey grinned, and Ian stopped digging at himself for being so pushy. “Don’t ask stupid fucking questions.”

So Ian didn’t.

“You know, this is all kinda surreal for me, too.” He pointed out.

Mickey heaved a breath.

“Do you actually want to do this broadcast?”

Mickey’s brows shot up. “The fuck do you think?”

Ian smiled softly enough that the distance between them meant Mickey couldn’t see it. “Then do it, Mickey. You’re always talking about how South Side you are. Isn’t the whole part of that taking stupid fucking risks all the time?”

“This is different.” Mickey muttered.

“How so?”

“Fuck you,” Mickey paused, “get the fucking camera.”

“I don’t use an actual camera, it’s the one on my lapto-”

“Get the camera, before I realise what a fucking awful decision this is!” Mickey squawked at Ian as all the things that could possibly go wrong gathered and settled in his mind.

***

“Has it started yet?” Mickey jabbed at Ian, impatient as ever.

“No, for fucks sake, I only just opened up the tab.”

“Well hurry the fuck up.”

“Yeah yeah, gimme a sec.” Ian focused his attention onto the screen as he quickly typed something out.

“What are you doing now?”

“Just a quick tweet to let everyone know I’m broadcasting.” Ian looked at Mickey’s faltering face. “Bad idea?”

Mickey took a deep breathe in, and spoke as he exhaled. “Get it over with.”

Ian chose his words carefully, and after multiple retypes, he posted the tweet. “I’m kind of excited, are you excited?”

“I’m fucking shaking, man.” Mickey half-smiled.

“Well I’m done with twitter, let’s get this thing started,” Mickey nodded in response, even though Ian’s attention was elsewhere. “Okay, I’m opening up Periscope now.”

“‘Kay.”

“Just starting up a new broadcast.” Ian said as he clicked at the screen.

“I don’t need a goddamn running commentary - just tell me when it’s live, and make it real fucking obvious when you want me to get in shot.”

That piqued Ian’s attention, “Oh! I hadn’t thought about how I was going to introduce you into it,” Mickey gave Ian an exasperated look, “I mean, I tweeted that I had a surprise, but how am I going to slip you into the frame- And for fuck’s sake, how do you expect me to subtly not tell anybody your name?!”

“Hey, you’re not allowed to panic, Gallagher. We got too much of that already up in here.” Mickey tapped his head with a finger.

“Got it, sorry.”

“I can’t believe this is happening.” Mickey mumbled.

“Small world, huh?”

“No, it’s a really fucking big one. They say there are seven people on Earth who look exactly like you… You sure you’re not some creepy-ass impersonator who’s studied the real Ian Gallagher for years and is, like, testing out their knowledge on Mickey Milkovich: the unknowing participant.”

Ian snorted, “I have no idea what the fuck you just said.”

“That’s exactly what fake-Ian would say.” Mickey pointed out.

“Well, I’ve got to admit, you’re close.”

“Oh really?” Mickey smirked.

“I’m actually an alien from outer space who can transform into any organism I see. I also feed off shock and happiness, hence my current form.”

“Knew it.”

Ian made a small _pfft_ noise with his lips, “Like hell you did.”

Mickey then said something really quietly under his breathe, and Ian couldn’t hear a single word of it.

“What was that?” He asked.

Mickey fumbled for a second before replying, “Nothing, tough guy.”

“That’s what I thought.” Ian grumbled. “Okay, sit next to me, but make sure you’re out of shot.”

They were both leaning against the wall, and Mickey moved closer so there was maybe a foot between them, and awkwardly tilted his head to the side away from the laptop, glancing at Ian for approval.

“You look like an idiot,” Ian observed.

“An idiot who isn’t showing up on camera.” Mickey gestured towards the screen as evidence.

Ian seemed keen to get the broadcast running, and turned to look at the man next to him one more time. “Alright Mick, I’m gonna start it in 3, 2, 1,” He clicked a button, the screen altered slightly, then the next thing Mickey knew, Ian was live to what may soon be thousands of people, and he was sitting right beside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I occasionally re-read the comments you guys leave and they're all so so lovely and really inspire me to write so thank you so much.
> 
> -
> 
> Also, if anyone is up for beta-ing this, please say! I'm still very new to all this writing business and would love a helping hand to fix things up a little.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit I didn't realise how long it had been since I'd posted, I'm so sorry for the wait!

“Hi guys!” Ian’s smile was huge, travelling from the corners of his mouth to his ears, and his eyes seemed to shine so bright that Mickey had to remind himself that eyes don’t shine, they fucking reflect.

The truth behind the beam even surprised Mickey a bit. He didn’t realise it until now, but he’d always wondered how real everything was backstage; he’d always wondered if Ian really cared about his fans. Looking at his face, he knew that Ian felt nothing but happiness about where he was, and what he was doing - it kind of made Mickey feel like all the hours of his life that he’d put aside for Ian had been worth it.

Comments popped up at the bottom of the screen and, silently thanking the recent update which meant the most popular fans’ comments always showed on the screen, Mickey skimmed through them.

There were usual greetings that tended to involve compliments on Ian’s hair and lots of love-heart emojis, but there were a shitload more than usual today, and nearly all of them involved the word ‘surprise’.

“Okay,” Ian started, “so for those of you who didn’t see, a few minutes ago I tweeted about a surprise on today’s broadcast.” Ian glanced at Mickey, who was rather aggressively rubbing his chin.

“I’ve never done a broadcast with anyone else in it before. I mean, I know you’ve seen my dad and stepmum a couple of times, but they were just walking into my room without knocking or whatever,” Ian waved one his hands a little, brushing the topic aside. “Well, I moved house the other day, and I’ve been nagging my friend who lives here to join me on one.”

To Ian’s relief, Mickey didn’t appear to be bothered by his use of the word ‘friend’.

“So I guess this is my first ever collab broadcast? I get that it’s not really a big deal, but it’s new and it’s different and I have no idea if it’ll be happening again so why the hell not.”

Mickey read the comments, and pretty much all of them were nagging Ian to hurry the fuck up and introduce this mystery friend.

“Wow, you guys are impatient.” Ian chuckled. “Alright,” He turned to Mickey and nodded, “say hello.”

Mickey’s tongue darted out of his mouth, wetting his lips before he shuffled that tiny bit closer and moved his head into the frame.”Um,” he scratched the back of his head, looking anywhere but the mirror of his face and the flash of the laptop’s camera. “Hi.”

***

“Holy shit I cannot believe that just happened!” Mickey laughed loudly as he and Ian started to walk back through the desolate area, vaguely in the direction of home.

“I mean, how many fucking broadcasts have I watched Ian?”

“I don’t kno-”

“So many!” Mickey’s eyes were wide and his eyebrows looked like they were about to get lost behind his hairline. “And how many times have I imagined broadcasting with you?”

This time Ian opted for just shaking his head, be it meaning simply ‘I don’t know’ or ‘I am literally so done with you right now but also please never shut up’, he couldn’t say.

“Too fucking many, man. Like, are you sure you’re real? Mands told me that sometimes people get so fucking crazy that they actually start imagining people in their lives; they start hallucinating and end up having fucking conversations with thin air until they get put in a psych ward or whatever. Okay to be honest I think we were both pretty drunk. But that’s not the point. I just- This is so fucking insane.”

“You done?” Ian grinned.

“Nope, never, I swear I’m fucking high or something, that was so great.”

Ian rolled his eyes, but honestly he was just as over the fucking moon as Mickey. He was gonna have some serious shit to answer to when he got home to Lip, because he sure as hell wasn’t going to wipe that goddamn smile off his face in time for dinner.

“Mick, I think you’re slightly overestimating the joy of providing good humour and charming looks to teenage girls.”

“Okay first of all nah-ah. How the fuck are you actually supposed to know that your entire audience is made of wannabe Disney Princesses? If I can watch your broadcasts, then I’m sure there are plenty of other kickass dudes out there who watch them too.”

“Kickass dudes?”

“ _Did I say I was finished?_ ” Mickey glared at Ian as he walked.

“My bad,” He chuckled.

“Second of all,” Ian was smiling at Mickey adoringly, and Mickey swatted his hands at him. “Would you stop pulling that stupid fucking face you are distracting me over here.”

Ian smirked.

“Second of fucking all, nobody had any clue who I was, right?! It was so easy, you didn’t slip up and say my name, nobody even noticed I wasn’t watching. Fucking hell, Ian. If you asked nicely I might actually do that again.”

Ian stayed silent for a moment, and then smiled. “Maybe I will.”

Mickey rambled on like that for a while longer, Ian just grinning by his side the entire time, until eventually swinging his bag off of his shoulder. Ian pulled out a pack of cigarettes and interrupted Mickey. “Hey, you got a lighter? Think I left mine at home.”

Mickey reached into the pocket of his jeans and proudly whipped out his lighter, which had ‘I <3 pussy’ emblazed on it in comic sans. “Can’t say I’m not original,” he smirked as he handed it over. He’d nicked it off of some prick he’d beaten up a couple months back, and the beautiful irony of it held a special place in his heart. Mickey swore he saw an odd look in Ian’s eyes as he handed it over, but chose to think nothing of it. If he had a problem with Mickey’s vulgar language or fucking fake objectification of women then he could say it to his face.

Passing a cigarette to Mickey, the two of them lit up and their walk gradually slowed down until Ian gave up and went to lean against one of the buildings, with Mickey joining at his side seconds later.

For a few minutes, they stay in a comfortable silence - one that was surprising of two people who had only just met. Every so often one of them (usually Ian, Mickey was never much good at small talk) would pipe up and ask little questions about the other’s lives, ones that had never really seemed important before they met, but now somehow made the other person so much more interesting. So much more real.

“You planning on going to college?” Ian asked as he burnt his way through a second cigarette.

Mickey laughed, offering Ian a small glance. “Fuck, man. Don’t think I even made it to senior year of high school. College is a fucking world away.”

“Dropped out, huh?”

Mickey raised an eyebrow, “Apparently I couldn’t pass if I was only showing up to 60 percent of my lessons, and the principal was trying to expel me for selling weed to the potheads when their dealer was out of town. I told him that that was fucking education in the South Side, that I was being an entrepreneur, starting up my own business and all that bullshit.

“Then he told me I could fuck off to that bitchy school on the other side of town if I kept up my attitude, so” Mickey gestured around him “look who dropped the fuck out.”

Ian was laughing whilst Mickey just scowled at his feet.

“They can kiss my ass; I’m doing just fine without them, thank you very much.”

“Of course,” Ian nodded in mock sincerity.

“Fuck off man.” Mickey bumped his shoulder against Ian’s, and realised maybe he was standing a little closer than he should be. “So, what about you?”

“Huh?”

“College and all that bullshit, you doing that?”

“Oh right, nah.” Ian scrunched up his nose. “I should be going off this year when the summer holidays end, my parents wanted me to. But I think I’m taking a year off, gap year or whatever. Don’t know what I want to do and can’t really find it in me to care at the moment.” Ian’s crushed dreams of West Point were on the tip of his tongue, but he figured maybe that was a story for another day.

“Nice,” Mickey shrugged.

Mickey learnt a lot of stuff about Ian in the following conversations. He had two sisters, three brothers, and frankly too many parents, but Mickey knew most of that already. He learnt their names now, found out that Fiona was the brave one, Lip was the smart one and Debbie was the kind one. Then of course there was Carl, a budding pyscopath, and Liam “who has struggles learning how to speak, but he has this tiny toy fire engine which he adores the shit out of and always runs around the house, making the siren’s noise” and to be honest Micky kind of loved the way Ian’s face lit up when talking about them.

Ian learnt similar things about Mickey, but there were always gaps of information missing. His dad sounded like a dick, and his mum never came up in conversation. His wife was never mentioned either - not once.

Mickey had a lot of brothers, some he got on with better than others, and a sister called Mandy, who Ian knew already from school when he was younger. It sounded like the two of them tortured the shit out of each other, but when it came down to it Mickey only really spoke of her with affection in his voice, even if he was calling her a whore at the same time.

“Anyway, sorry Ian, but I got some shit to sort out with my old man.” Mickey sighed before inhaling one last lung full of smoke, and then stubbing his cigarette against the wall. He offered a final apologetic smile, before pushing himself from it to walk away.

“See you later!” Ian called after him, surprised at his sudden absence.

Mickey didn’t reply at first, just held his middle finger up behind him with a grin plastered to his face, not even turning around to see if Ian had received the message.

“Whatever you say, firecrotch.” He retorted, before breaking into a jog and finally heading home.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited

It felt like only days had passed before Ian and Mickey became a permanent fixture of the other’s life.

What started off as just one shared broadcast become another a week later, then two the week after that, and by the time a month had passed Mickey was appearing in them almost every other day. Unfortunately, amongst the citizens of Canaryville who paid attention to this kind of thing, this hadn’t gone by unnoticed.

It started with the girls at Debbie’s school; news quickly flying that Mickey Milkovich had made friends with the readdition to the Gallagher Clan. But that wasn’t too unusual; Ian wasn’t posh, he wasn’t a snob, not everyone who lived in the North Side of Chicago ate dinner off gold plates - people knew that. And Mickey could have friends, he wasn’t some insensitive prick, he had a family; he cared about his brothers and sister and he would fucking destroy anyone who didn’t respect that.

What rubbed everyone the wrong way was seeing a man who had a gun in his back pocket half the time and raised in someone’s face the other, smiling so fucking much.

So, of course, news eventually got to the the second youngest Milkovich brother, Iggy. “Fucking prissy,” Iggy had laughed one time when Mickey got home from an evening broadcasting, and that was that. Mandy had yet to say anything to him, and his other brothers apparently couldn’t give any fewer shits. Terry hadn’t been home in a couple weeks, he had to pick up some guns in another state and there was a bitch who owed him money or some shit like that.

For now, Mickey Milkovich was in the clear. At least he still had enough of a reputation that no fucking strangers were confronting him in the streets or any bullshit like that. One time a kid no older than Debbie’s age had trotted up to Ian whilst him and Mickey were walking down the street, a flirty fucking smile on her lips as she batted her eyes and asked for a selfie, before pulling out an iPhone which there was no fucking way she could actually afford.

For a millisecond Ian had looked at him and Mickey had thought he was gonna ask if he wanted to be in the picture, and his eyes opened as wide as they fucking could, screaming at the red-headed prick to shut his pretty little mouth before he did it for him.

At first, it had scared Mickey, the idea of being less of a threat now that he was joining Ian on Periscope. But it didn’t last too long, he’d just had to up his game a little.

 

***

 

“Is that Mickey Milkovich outside?” Fiona dropped the piece of bread she’d been buttering and squinted through the window, to see Mickey sitting on the stairs leading down from their backdoor.

“Woah, Ian. You got some sort of drug cartel going on with him?” Carl grinned, and Fionna gently smacked him over the head.

“Nah, just hanging out.”

Fionna turned to Ian. “That safe?”

“Yeah,” Ian squinted. “I’m doing a bunch of my broadcasts with him now, did nobody tell you?”

“The fuck? I mean, yeah, V did - and Debbie - but I thought they were just takin’ the piss.”

Fiona huffed out a laugh as Ian shrugged proudly.

“Well, can’t say I saw that one coming.”

“You know, he’s not as bad as everyone thinks.” Ian thought aloud.

Fiona pulled an amused face at that, “The last time that he beat up Frank for not paying up on time, Mickey did his face in so bad that he couldn’t speak for a week.”

“A week?”

“Yeah,” Fiona chuckled. “It was like a sneak preview of heaven.”

Ian smiled broadly, and gave his sister a quick hug. “Well, I better go. Mick’s waiting for me.”

“Mick? You giving each other nicknames now?”

“Bye Fi!”

“No, wait a sec.” Ian turned around to meet her eyes somewhat impatiently. “Where have you been doing your Periscope stuff recently? It’s really not safe to be carrying a laptop around with you-”

“Fiona,” Ian sighed. “I grew up here. I know what I’m doing.” Fiona still didn’t look convinced. “And besides,” he gave her arm a comforting nudge, “having Mickey with me is like having a personal bodyguard, nobody would fucking dare try and get past him. _I know what I’m doing_.”

“All this hanging around a Milkovich would suggest otherwise.” Fiona retorted quickly, and Ian just laughed as he made his way over to the door.

“Try telling that to Lip.”

 

Ian opened the door to find Mickey sitting facing away from the him, perched on the banister of the modest landing, with his legs swinging over the edge.

He turned at the sound of the door closing, and gave Ian a small, enamored smile. Sometimes Ian found himself thinking that Mickey only ever saved those smiles for him.

“‘Sup,” Mickey said, and Ian lifted his chin in affirmation, swinging his long legs over the banister and sitting idly by Mickey’s side. They stayed settled there for a few moments, content in the other’s silence.

“Hey,” Mickey knocked his foot against Ian’s, speaking quietly over the sereneness of their disposition. “You know, I’ve still got no fucking clue how you get wifi up in those buildings.” Mickey asked the kind-of-question with nonchalance, but this tiny mystery had left him in a short, dazed confusion each time Ian started up his laptop.

Ian, being the asshole that he was, rather than giving Mickey an answer, gave him a slight smirk and a wink. Mickey turned his face to the ground.

They fell into a complacent stillness once again, their short exchange somehow only augmenting the relaxed atmosphere around them. Together, the two of them felt at home.

“Fiona wants to know if you’re going to stab me in my sleep.” Ian spoke at last.

Mickey couldn’t help the smirk that played its way across his face. “She said that?”

Ian pondered, his legs swinging gently. “Maybe not those exact words.”

Mickey let his tongue trail across his bottom lip, and then he drew at the corner of it with his teeth, looking into the distance as he did so, as if in thought. If he noticed Ian watching, he didn’t say anything. “Tell her I’m still thinking about it.”

Ian let out a somewhat adorable huff of breath as he build up his sarcastic tone. “Thanks man.”

“Anyday.”

This time, Ian smiled at Mickey. “So, what do you want to do for today’s broadcast?”

“I don’t know, same as fucking usual?” Mickey raised his eyebrows, the two of them waking up every so slightly. “As long as we don’t gotta fuckin play go fish again. That was horrible, and everyone watching wanted you to win.”

“Not true, Mick. You’ve got a tonne of fans - if you made your own periscope you’d probably start stealing on my viewers.” Mickey chuckled, “Although, you really would have to tell people your name if you did that.”

“Well, not fucking likely that’s gonna happen then, is it?”

Ian shook his head, “Guess not.” and then his eyes lit up, “Or, we could come up with an alias! We could find a name that’s an anagram of Mariokartthug; it would be fucking genius.”

Mickey looked up at the sky, the sun burning his eyes when he glanced in the wrong direction, and sighed. “You’re an idiot.”

Ian moved suddenly, breaking the spell and leaping off of the banister, landing on the grass below. Grinning, he looked up at Mickey, who was clearly pondering whether or not he had the energy to jump down too.

“And you fucking love it.” He replied.

 

***

 

Late that afternoon, Mickey joined Ian on another broadcast.

They’d been in an argument for a little while, disputing over the best courses in Mario Kart (which was humourous, giving how intent Mickey was on hiding that he was in fact the infamous Mariokartthug94). Mickey was busy insisting on Mushroom Gorge, whilst Ian apparently had his set on Rainbow Road. Mickey had to bite his tongue to stop himself from saying how fucking gay that was after Ian’s countless ‘ _no racist, homophobic, or misogynistic language on my broadcasts’_ talks.

“Okay, but Rainbow Road is fucking repetitive, man.” Mickey whined. “Like, all you’ve got is a really fast road without any barriers, but _Mushroom Gorge_ changes all the fucking time. You can bounce on massive mushrooms for fuck’s sake! Then you’ve got that sick bridge that speeds at the end, and that really difficult shortcut before the cave thing. This shit isn’t even debatable - get the fuck out of my house.”

Ian laughed and shoved Mickey, who fell ungraciously to the concrete floor, and jabbed Ian in return.

“Shit, my bad.” Ian laughed, throwing his hands in the air, feigning innocence. “I guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree?” He asked, eyebrows raised.

“Fucking fine.” Mickey agreed, “But just so you know, you’re wrong.”

On that note Ian looked back at his laptop, searching the comments for the next conversation topic. He started mumbling the comments as he read them, saying hi to the people who said hi to him, answering any quick questions he came across.

“Hey Flo, hiya Ahmed. You like my shirt? Aw thanks! My older sister bought it for me as a moving in present…”

These were the parts that Mickey normally zoned out of. Instead of listening, he would lean back against the concrete and try to read the graffiti that coated the walls, or count the cracks in the pillars, trying to find an accurate percentage that represented the likelihood of one of them collapsing, and the ceiling caving in on himself and Ian. When he’d look to the side, seeing Ian’s smiling face and dishevelled hair, he found himself hoping that that number was very small.

He liked Ian a lot; he could accept that. He’d liked him ever since he’d started watching his broadcasts, and even more when Ian started properly acknowledging him online. Then, he’d met him in real life, and not at some bullshit gathering - but in his neighbourhood, practically on his street. Fuck, Ian was beautiful in real life; he didn’t need to look to the redhead beside him to know the small, fond smile, that was surely playing at his lips.

Mickey didn’t expect anything from Ian. Not sex, or a kiss, or a dramatic love story. He didn’t want any of that either. If the two of them hooked up, he didn’t think he could stop himself from being with Ian; from loving him. And with Mickey’s dad - with his _wife_ for fuck’s sake - they wouldn’t be able to get away with anything. Fuck - Loving Ian would probably kill them.

Maybe he was falling for him. Maybe he was just a mess who needed some kind of self reassurance. In the end, all Mickey actually knew was that-

“What’s your friend’s name?”

Mickey jolted his head to the side in time to watch the realisation cloud over Ian’s face as he realised exactly what question he’d read out loud. Ian had told Mickey he didn’t have to worry about this: he read each question inside his head a couple times before reading it aloud, it was a habit he’d to pick up to avoid spilling too much information about himself, though Mickey didn’t know what kind of information that was.

But apparently habit wasn’t enough, because here the two of them were, unable to move as they both realised what stupid fucking mistakes they had made. Ian shouldn’t have read that question without thinking it over first, and Mickey- fuck. Mickey should never have agreed to broadcast in the first place.

As the two of them froze, more questions started flooding in.

_yeah, what is his name?_

_Why haven’t you ever told us?_

_it’s kinda weird to keep something like this a secret for so long, just saying_

_What’s his name?????_

“Um,” Ian started, and painstakingly slowly turned his head round to face Mickey. His mouth hung open a little, his thumb still hovering over the K tattoed onto his finger, where just seconds ago he had been rubbing it, caught up in what Ian assumed to be another of his daydreams. Ian didn’t need to ask in order to know what was going through his head right then. Primarily, the word _fuck_ , he thought.

“Ha, well,” Ian stumbled across his words, not sure who they were directed at anymore. “That’s a good question?” He queried, before Mickey, who had been trapped in such an abstract daze, came alive again. He jolted forwards, and if he hadn’t been been moving so fast, Ian would have seen the tremor in his hands as he slammed the laptop shut.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just when you thought I was gone forever...

“I panicked, okay!” Mickey jumped to his feet, Ian setting the laptop aside and promptly following.

“You fucking slammed the laptop shut when they started asking what your name is! Could you have possibly been more suspicious?!”

Mickey kicked at the concrete floor, trying to get his head together. Yeah, he shouldn’t have just ended the broadcast, but what the fuck _was_ he supposed to do? He fucking enjoyed this, he enjoyed Ian, but these broadcasts set his mind all over the place; just as he’d start to feel at ease, he would look at what him and Ian were doing and it wasn’t right. He didn’t know why, but it just wasn’t.

“Look, it’s fine, we just tell them my name’s really embarrassing - that I didn’t want them to find out.”

Ian sighed, “People who know you watch these broadcasts, Mickey. You can’t just straight up lie to them; they’d just tell everyone else the truth.”

The truth. That was was what was fucking Mickey up so bad, because he knew he really fucking liked Ian, and he knew that was dangerous. But at the same time he knew he was safe, because he had a wife, and that pretty much had him covered on all his skeletons. Something about Ian scared him, made him angry even, but Mickey didn’t fucking know why. Gallagher wasn’t more than a dumb fucking crush. Mickey didn’t get caught up in emotions like that.

Yeah, he was scared by the fucking truth.

“Mick,” Ian muttered, stepping back towards him.

“So what the fuck am I supposed to do then?!” Mickey’s eyes were wide and wild, glistening with fear as he jumped back from Ian’s outstretched hand.

Ian’s quieted voice agitated Mickey, his fingers tapping at his hip. “Why are you so afraid, Mick? Your excuses are always bullshit; your reputation is fucking fine, and your family probably don’t even know about the broadcasts, let alone care. Why the fuck are you so scared of this?”

Mickey worried his lip, looking to the side in a clear debate as to whether to shout at Ian or tell him what was clearly on his mind.

“Just fuck off, man. It ain’t none of your fucking business.”

Ian’s gaze shifted around the room, “Kinda is, though, isn’t it?” He looked back at Mickey, “I’m fucking bored of this. It’s not a game, it’s my life, you know what these broadcasts mean to me.” Mickey turned his head to the side, away from Ian’s tall stature and hurt eyes, “I let you in, barely even gave it a second thought - but I should’ve, shouldn’t I? You can’t just do this for me? Can’t you tell me why it’s clearly so fucking hard for you to do this one thing, because God knows there are reasons why I don’t want to do this, I’ve been debating stopping almost everyday since I started Periscope fucking years ago, but I’ve pushed past that shit because this actually means something to me!”

Mickey ripped his head back to face Ian, his jaw clenched and the tapping turned to shaking.

“I get that you got your own problems Ian, but you’re fine! You got two families who love you, who you know support all this shit you do with your broadcasting and your fans. Me? I ain’t got a mum anymore. I’ve got a coupla shithead brothers who would kill for me but sure as shit wouldn’t die for me. My sister’s alright - got appalling taste in guys though. And my dad? My dad’s a murderous fucking racist, sexist, homophobic piece of shit, and do you have _any_ fucking idea how much of a _fag_ I look like on that fucking computer screen sitting next to you?”

Ian flinched, taking a step backwards. He waiting a few moments, staring into Mickey’s wide eyes before he could bring himself to open his mouth to say the words. “That’s what this is about?” He asked, and Mickey shrugged, smiling a damaged smile. “But you have a wife, don’t you?”

Mickey’s brow scrunched, “What’ve I told you about asking stupid fucking questions?”

Ian squinted, trying to suss Mickey out. “It’s not stupid, Mick. You do this every time I bring her up.”

“No I don’t.”

“Yeah, you fucking do.”

Mickey scratched his head, a few black strands falling across his forehead, unaware of the small twitch in Ian’s hand as he held himself from brushing them back into place. “Look it’s complicated, a’ight.”

“Bet it isn’t,”

“And how would you fucking know?”

Ian crossed his arms defensively. “Look, the way I see it you got married when you were what, 18? Who the fuck even does that? And it’s not like you were crazy in love or any shit like that; fuck, you try your best to avoid just saying her name, let alone having a conversation about her.”

Mickey locked his eyes angrily on a piece of graffiti to the left of Ian’s head.

“And then the only plausible explanation is you got her knocked up and had to marry her or whatever, but look around you Mickey, there’s no fucking baby!”

Ian was predatorial, his eye’s wide and glossy and locked on Mickey’s. Mickey still refused to return the gesture.

“Why won’t you tell me anything? At least fucking look at me!”

Finally Mickey’s gaze left the paint on the wall, shifting to Ian before dropping to the floor as he went back to kicking at the ground. “It’s a bullshit relationship, Ian. She needed a green card and I needed my dad off my back. Worked out fine for both of us.”

“So you’re gay?”

“ _I’m not some fucking queer, Gallagher!_ ” Mickey screamed, storming up to Ian and jabbing a finger an inch away from the other boy’s face.

Ian’s features fell placid, like Mickey had personally offended him somehow. “Then do you have an actual reason as to why you shouldn’t be doing broadcasts with me?”

“Yes! I mean- there’s plenty of fuc- stop fucking with my head, Gallagher, Jesus!”

“This is fucking pointless.” Ian murmured, walking back to the wall and slumping against it. He sunk to the ground, bringing his knees to his chest and dropping his head on them.

Mickey opened his mouth to speak, but shut it before any words could actually come out.

As Ian’s eyes rested closed, he heard Mickey’s slow steps around the room. He took the moment as it was, and listened to the steady rhythm of them. Eventually they stopped back near where the two of them had just been fighting, then the sound of shoes on concrete came back and Ian felt a warm body sliding down next to him.

Neither of them spoke; Ian almost felt as if he were about to fall asleep, so he didn’t move, absorbing the strange tranquility of having Mickey next to him.

At last Ian lifted his head from his knees, and Mickey mouth twisted into a small smirk, gently reaching a hand forward to smooth at a red mark on Ian’s forehead from where it had been resting on his jeans. His fingers lingered a moment, falling to Ian’s jaw so quickly that Ian wasn’t sure it had even happened, before he folded his hands back into his lap.

“‘m not ready to tell you yet. I’m sorry, I’m just not.” Mickey breathed.

Ian thought it over, looking at the tired boy before him. “You will thought, yeah? Some day?”

“Sure,” Mickey smiled sadly, “some day.”

It felt like both a promise and the exact opposite of one, but there was something oddly charming about that for Ian, something so _Mickey_.

“Can I tell you something?” Ian asked.

Mickey nodded.

“You know Frieda, the girl I was dating.”

Mickey gulped.

“I... was never really dating her.”

Ian smiled a little as Mickey’s eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

“Wasn’t dating Regina before her, either.”

Mickey took a moment before he replied. “Why?” he asked slowly.

Ian shrugged languidly, and broke away from the hold of Mickey’s stare to rest his head against the wall. His eyes shut in a way that told Mickey not to ask anymore, and the two of them fell back into a comfortable silence.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this please leave comments and kudos, and don't forget to subscribe if you want to read more!  
> Thank you so much for reading xD have a fabulous day :)


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